


A fragile sculpted mind

by ChibiRaiden



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Blind Character, Doppelganger, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Manipulation, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-02 02:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17879654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiRaiden/pseuds/ChibiRaiden
Summary: When he wakes up in a freezing cold room that he has not a clue how he got there to begin with. Iris mind scatters like puzzles pieces as he imagine the worst scenarios. He desperately tries to pieces them back together but something's missing. Many things are missing in fact.





	A fragile sculpted mind

**Author's Note:**

> Passerotto here is used as a pet name and means Sparrow.

Serenade for strings echoed in his ears, echoed in his mind, like a vague flashback that kept on looping. Over and over. He didn’t mind it though, he liked that music. He couldn’t put his finger on why he liked it but it was somehow comforting in away. He wondered for a moment. He wondered how long it had been since he stopped hurting. The pain had dissipated which was good but the pins and needles from the cold sensation had stayed. He sank into it as it spread over his body, wrapping his mind in a thick and frigid blanket. He couldn’t feel anything anymore, couldn’t feel the burning sensation of being boiled alive, cut open and twisted into something his body wasn’t supposed to be. He couldn’t remember why there was pain to begin with.

The music had stopped playing, odd, it always seemed to echo in his mind but now everything was silent. Too quiet, too painful. Pain wasn’t supposed to come back, not yet. He was suddenly falling, falling in chilling darkness as panic weighed him down, he wanted to scream but no sound came out.

He woke up, puzzled and in agonizing pain. His body aching terribly and protesting the sudden movements of his muscles spasming and twitching. Moving hurt, breathing wasn’t much better, as if the flesh and tendons had calcified over time and his skin had melted and hardened over what was left of him. He was laying on his back, freezing and disoriented. His mind pulled back to reality from its hibernation in a sudden and harsh way. His head felt like it was about to crack open and there was this sharp pain in his eye sockets, something was off, something was definitely wrong. He shut his eyes, which surprisingly helped soothing the awful migraine he had and he weakly curled onto his side.

He was shivering uncontrollably as if he had been in a freezer for days or more like at the bottom of an icy lake for months. His body was painfully stiff and the only action of curling up onto his side made his sensitive muscles lock tensefully. He noticed it was awfully quiet, other than his loud breathing and feeble sounds he made from the pain. It was eerily silent. No other soul other than his was in the room with him. He was all alone and scared.  He didn’t even know where he was to begin with. From all he knew he could have been in a morgue. He didn’t even remembered his own name but he knew he had one, though it wasn’t what mattered right now. All he knew, was that he was on the cold tiles of a floor in a room that smelled like blood, death and unknown chemicals which burned his nostrils and twisted his stomach horribly. Also, he knew that his body was a mass of sensitive nerves and flesh. Maybe he was in fact a morgue. He didn’t want to think about this possibility though.

He laid on the floor not wanting to move an inch of his frigid body, shaking badly and quietly complaining. That’s when he realised he wasn’t wearing clothes, only a thin blanket seemed to be under him. He got a hold of the fabric and wrapped himself into it as best as he could. He winced at the motions but once he was settled in the thin fabric he at least didn’t feel as exposed as he was before.

He finally opened his eyes when the migraine had calmed down, which shouldn’t have been much different but it was. It was far more different than what it should have been in fact. He weakly looked around like a scared animal. There were things, he could see things. He wasn’t supposed to see thing. Wasn’t he? He awkwardly looked around rubbing his eyes and blinking, trying to make sure it wasn’t just his mind playing some tricks on him. The pain in his eye sockets throbbed at the touch of his hand as he rubbed them. This didn’t made sense. His limbs didn’t felt like his own, like it wasn’t his body at all but the fact his eyes could somewhat, see? This felt off. There was this voice in the back of his mind, talking about something, something about seeing true art. The words looped in his head over and over again. His mind was too cloudy to remember much or to make sense of these words. 

There were footsteps in a distance, light and fast but the clicking of the shoes echoed on the tiles loud enough for him to hear it. He reached out for his surroundings, trying to crawl away, hide away. He didn’t want to be seen, not like this. He was in so much suffering though, whoever was coming could perhaps help. Ease up his pain and misery. He crawled into a ball behind something metallic and heavy, it’s felt like it was probably a table or a cabinet of some sort. Either way he painfully laid back down, hiding in the thin sheet of fabric. His breathing was rough, almost like he was panting.

\----------

He casually walked in the hallway, eager to finish his latest work and develop the photos that would go along with the sculpture for the exhibit. He had in one hand his camera and in the other a set of spare clothes, identical to his own. Stepping forward in a flash of blue smoke into nothingness before reappearing further into hallway as he continued walking. He was getting used to this method of travelling. He quite enjoyed the way he could surprise his subjects, letting them get away, letting them think they could escape him before being right in front of them. This brought a whole new level of excitement to his work as their expression of hope would turn into despair. The fear, the desperation, he loved it. It made his work feel more alive as he photographed their last moment. Frozen in time, their death caught on film waiting to be developed. People would literally become wild animals in order to survive.  Betraying one another when they’d realise they were bound to die in his domaine, his art gallery. Bound to become his art, displayed all nicely for his public to appreciate.

He slowed down as he arrived in front of one of his atelier, pushing the doors open. His eye went to his sculpture or at least where it was supposed to be. It wasn’t on his working table anymore and he could sense panic setting in. He had work so hard on this and now it was gone. He was about to place down the clothes on a nearby table before his attention was on a piece of cloth laying on the ground near his work table.

He stepped forward, appearing in a burst of blue smoke in front of this poor shivering thing. His work, laying on the ground all cuddled up in the thin fabric he had placed on top of him to cover him from unwanted prying eyes. He stood there surprised. He thought his attempt at making a living piece of art had failed but he was pleasantly wrong. He tilted his head slightly, examining his work as he shivered and hid his face away. He could hear small whimpers as he seemed to try to shrink away from him. 

He lowered himself down to one knee next to him, delicately brushing his hair with his fingers. He flinched badly at the initial touch of his hand then he lightly leaned against it. He almost looked like a wounded stray cat, scared and abandoned, desperate for affection the second it gets petted.

`` Passerotto? Can you hear me darling?`` His words were buttery and warm as if he wanted his art to not be too frightened by his presence. He froze for a moment at the question as if he was thinking and then he gently nodded.

`` That’s very good, now, you must be freezing you poor thing...Would you mind standing up for me so I can help you dress up?`` He cooed warmly at him. There was a weak nod and he slowly pulled himself up, wincing and complaining softly as if it was exhausting to do such a simple task. He helped him to get up. His knees threatened to give up the second he was standing up. Stefano was already on him, holding his doppelganger firmly to prevent him from falling. He helped him to a stool before starting to dress him up, his hands were careful and gentle as they went over his art body. Buttoning his dress shirt, mirroring his dress up routine, all so gentle as he could be. He paused a moment, looking at his face, still somewhat in pain but yet so distracted, fascinated. It reminded him of his own discovery of true beauty of art, through the moment right before death. The difference here was that as he lost an eye to gain his amazing inspiration, his art had been gifted sight in order to do so. Both mesmerized for different reasons.

``Do you remember your name?`` he asked softly as he continued dressing him up,  he knew this would be a minor problem if he did somehow remembered. He shook his head absently at the question, too busy staring at everything and nothing. `` Your name is Iris, my beloved masterpiece`` his tone warmer as he called him his masterpiece. It was true, Iris was a masterpiece. A one of a kind creation that came out of experimentation and a passion for his craft. He knew he’d create much more elaborate pieces in the future but he loved all his art equally or at least he tried not to do favoritism. From his photographs to his grandiose sculptures that were displayed in his gallery, to his never ending looping subjects death, Iris was something completely different. His fleshed out self-portrait, never done like this such as he did.

This was far more than good, this meant he could create completely new sculptures out of flesh like he’d wanted to make. He’d need to clean the process a bit but at least he had the base and so much material available at hand. He finally finished dressing Iris and took a step back to look at his work. It wasn’t picture perfect but nothing could possibly be as close to copy him except himself of course. He wondered if he should wait before placing his hair like his own, considering Iris would need some time to get accustomed to his camera lenses. 

\----------

There was the warmth, barely noticeable but the simple touch did startled him at first. It was delicate and very welcome. Whoever this was, they didn’t want to harm him. He wanted this person to comfort him, take that pain away, sooth his aching limbs. That voice, that soothing voice. He was fairly certain he knew that voice. It was too familiar to not be and that word. That word, passerotto, someone used to call him like this all the time. He squinted, trying to remember who that voice could possibly belong to but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He simply nodded at the question, still distracted about remembering. That voice seemed to bring back memories though, broken and fuzzy but still. Something about his blindness, a promise. Something about art and somehow related to the pain he was in moments ago. 

He was indeed freezing, he wanted to cuddle up against this person, he seemed warm and welcoming.He wasn’t sure if he could stand up on his own with how much his entire body seemed to burn and sting in agony. He slowly stood up feeling that warm touch on his skin, helping him up on his feet. He felt nauseated and disoriented by the change of position and his newly found sight wasn’t helping his brain to understand what was going on. His head was spinning, he didn’t like this, neither his knees but he wasn’t falling. There were arms wrapped around him, holding him close, giving him that heat he wanted so badly. This felt nice, this felt familiar as if it wasn’t the first time he was being held like this by this person. The he was being dressed up, the gentle touch still present, teasing his skin, covering it with clothes. The were soft and the scent they had was bringing buried memories back to the surface. There was a question, what was his name? He didn’t remembered as he shook his head. He wanted to talk, say something but his throat barely made a sound that would resemble a complaint. Iris. He liked that name, he liked his name. My beloved masterpiece, beloved, loved...Loved. That word echoed, played back in his head as if his mind was desperately trying to place the information back in its place. Love, he did remembered that, how it made him feel. The affection as well, the sweet words and gentle touch. The man, he knew him, he couldn’t put his finger on his name, it kept slipping off his mind but he definitely knew him. Maybe it would come back once he stopped hurting and being so drowsy.

It felt so odd, so unnatural, he could hear him talking but he wasn’t paying any attention to it. He was too busy looking at his hands. He realised could see his own hands, he could see! He clenched his hands before unclenching them a few times, he was completely mesmerized by seeing what he could only assume to be colors, movements and shapes. It was so surreal, so impossible but yet there he was, seeing for the very first time of his life, his new life as a piece of art.

``Are you listening Iris? `` the voice asked, pulling him out of his train of thoughts.

He simply nodded without looking, of course he hadn’t listen to what was being said but he hoped it wasn’t important. A figure came into view, he lifted his head to look at it but he couldn’t see much other than blurred shapes that were lighter than the background.

``Then please, tell me, what did I just say to you?`` the man asked as he leaned forward.

His eyebrows knitted into a frown, trying to think of what he could have possibly said to him. Nothing came to his mind, it was too foggy and his whole body was aching so badly that thinking was still hard. He looked down, looking back at his hands since he couldn’t provide an answer and there was a sigh. Then hands were on his face, soft and warm and so welcoming, he wanted to sink in them.

`` I guess I cannot blame you for being so distracted.`` he said with a small chuckle. `` Here, let me adjust it for you.`` he said as he got closer to Iris’ face. He wasn’t sure what he was doing but he let, Stefano. Stefano? He knew that name, that was the name he kept trying to remember earlier. He liked Stefano. He would let him do what he needed to do, afterall he didn’t want to ruin all the work he had put into his creation.

`` Once you’ll get used to the lenses you’ll be able to control it on your own but for now it’ll auto focus for you.`` his voice was so soothing as it ever was when he spoke to him. He felt his hands gently touching his eyes as it pulsed in his skull and he had the urge to move away, to hide from those hands. Those hands, which had hurt him so badly, molded his body into something new, something that Stefano called art. Those same hands that once held him close, caressed him, they weren’t trying to hurt him though. They were like they used to be, gentle and intimate. 

Suddenly, he could see more than just odd shapes that were blurry. He could see Stefano’s face, his features clearer than ever, his lips were curved into a smile or at least that’s how stefano had described it to him when he was still blind. His eye was piercing him, it was delightful to look at. Iris opened his mouth but no words came out, only a raspy gasp escaped his lips. 

``Better mh?`` the artist asked as he moved his hands away. Iris’ hands hesitantly went for his face then to Stefano’s, unsure if he was really seeing him, if he wasn’t just having some wild dreams but he really was there. He clumsily cupped Stefano’s cheeks, trying to be as delicate as possible as if he feared he’d hurt him or be pushed away for touching in the first place. His skin was so warm, it felt nice compared to his frigid hands, even with the gloves on he never seemed to be warm at all. He craved that heat, he desperately wanted to cuddle against him and stay warm but something in the back of his mind wouldn’t allow him to cross that line though. Fears, fears that he wasn’t sure what they were about. Though, Stefano didn’t move, didn’t rejected Iris’ explorations one bit.

Stefano chuckled but Iris wasn’t paying much attention at his reactions though, he was gently caressing his cheek, staring at how the artist skin looked. The sounds he made, so truthfully mesmerized and heartwarming. Being able to see how the voice he had heard over the years looked like, how his voice was somewhat fitting with his look. He pulled Stefano into a hug, burying his face in his scarf which smelled so nice and comforting. That smell, he missed it so dearly in a way, he wasn’t sure why.

``...c...can see...Stef..no...can see...you..`` his raspy voice kept breaking and it was so quiet too. He could hardly hear himself speak at all. Stefano stiffened for a moment before relaxing and wrapping his arms around Iris in return. Silence echoed in the room, all Iris could hear was Stefano’s breathing, so quick and loud. He suddenly feared that he went too far, that maybe he shouldn’t have done this, until Stefano broke the silence by whispering into his ear.

`` You’re still here even after all of this.``

\-------------

It was quite amusing to see Iris so mesmerized by the fact he could see. He looked like a child or an animal that would have discovered something entirely new that they could stare at for hours. His first instinct when Iris went for his face was to slightly flinch, not because of the initial touch but Iris’ hands were freezing cold even with the gloves he wore. He was gently caressing his cheeks as if it was the first time he was touching Stefano, as if it was forbidden somehow. He chuckled at the thought but then Iris was hugging him, his face nuzzled into his scarf.

It sent shivers down his spine. His words, so quiet and broken, barely audible to his ears. He felt his heart skip a beat when he heard him speak though. He wasn’t expecting his work to still be capable of speaking let alone think like Iris was. It gave him goosebumps, to think that his art, the man he had dreamed of turning into his art night after night, way before he joined Union. That man that he couldn’t bring himself to kill, not by compassion but something else he couldn’t put his finger on. That same man that he just fantasized about displaying in his private collection as he slept peacefully next to him. The amount of times he thought about choking him in his sleep, squeeze the life out of him, no one would have known. No one knew about him. There were too many times to count or to even remember. It didn’t matter now though. His masterpiece was complete and had his signature on it.

`` I must admit...this is quite a wonderful surprise that your mind remained intact into the sculpture. I feared you’d lose your charm.`` Stefano’s hand gently went in a circular motion on Iris’ back. He was looking away, a wicked smile crept up his lips as his thoughts raced in his mind. He had created a living sculpture, not only that but a perfect representation of himself as an artist, his auto portrait. The pain he suffered when he lost his eye, his inspiration and will to create, his screams which were truly marvelous in his opinion. Iris had such marvelous screams. He never liked when his subjects would scream so loudly but Iris screams had been so oddly familiar and comforting in a way. Like a deformed lullaby of agony a suffering, sang only for him. He did have to take more frequent breaks as it brought his migraines full force but after a while his cries died out. The sounds he produced replaced by raw and broken gargles, beyond repairable, barely humane anymore. Still as charming as ever.

His work had a mind of his own, he wasn’t just a mindless piece of flesh and clay. He was excited just thinking about it, this meant he could flesh out so much more than non moving sculptures and photographs. His future work would be truly magnificent work of art. People would finally know the length of his talent. He could feel his heartbeat getting faster, the thought he had in the back of his mind so twisted yet so tempting. He could feel that urge grow inside of him though. The lust he desperately had to hear him whimper and cry out his name. That desperate need to be inside of his art. Inside Iris. Feel his work squirm under his hands as he held him close. Feel his frigid body become more malleable as his warmth would heat him up.

``My precious Iris..`` he whispered in his ear. He could feel his dress pants getting uncomfortable and he bit his lip groaning quietly. `` Would you…`` He began, breathing heavily. `` Iris...I want you, I want to be in you.`` he breathed out as he kissed Iris neck roughly. He smelled like blood and clay and he loved that smell, it reminded him of all the hard work had had put into sculpting him. There was also smells of chemicals, he didn’t want to use them but he needed to test out if this would affect the sculpture. He didn’t mind it though, it wasn’t too strong to be unpleasant. ``Let me put my final touch to you, would you?`` he whispered, his hands went to his waist, gently squeezing him. He could feel Iris stiffening under his touch, shaking, his breathing inconsistent and loud before he was abruptly pushed away without a warning. He almost tripped on his own feet as he was pushed away but he ungracefully managed to get back his balance on time.

``no!..no...no...pleas...dun wan...no more Stef-no...plea-se..`` Iris hoarsely sobbed out as he crawled into a fetal position in a corner of the room. Stefano stood there, staring. Iris looked like a wild animal, trapped and cornered. Helpless, terrified. He loved it, loved seeing the fear his art was showing so vividly, pleading him to stop. Perhaps it was too soon for this.

``Oh you poor thing...`` he murmured.

\------

Iris blushed, he wasn’t sure what Stefano meant by that at first. Of course he was still there, how could he not? He couldn’t possibly have gone anywhere, he laid on that table still for so long. He couldn’t have forgotten this already. He couldn’t abandon the man that had gifted him sight, made him into something beautiful but most importantly loved him when no one else would. He gasped when he felt stefano kissing his neck. It had this odd echo of better days, before pain, before the screams and agony he had to endure. 

It felt nice, even though it wasn’t as gentle as he would have wanted it to be he still liked the affection he was getting from him. He then realised what Stefano had just said to him and he froze. He wanted to put his final touch to him, be in him. This meant he would have to go back on the cutting board, he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to hurt more than he already did and he could feel panic creeping up on him. He didn’t want to suffer again, he just wanted to crawl into a ball and be held and loved.

He remembered the pain all too well, how much he begged him to stop. How much he told him he couldn’t take it anymore. How much he screamed and cried, screamed until his vocal cords gave out, until the music that played in the room was the only thing he could hear. Stefano had murmured how good he was doing so far. How much he was proud of his art and that it would all be over soon. It did eventually stop hurting. He’s not sure when but it did, for a moment he didn’t feel like he was in agony anymore and then he was back. Laying on that table, shivering, confused, afraid and in pain but the worst of all was the fact he was alone. 

He didn’t want to go back, Stefano had promised him, promised it wouldn’t hurt for too long but now he wanted Iris to go back there to finish him up. He couldn’t do that, he simply couldn’t. He was shaking so badly and breathing oddly, it was quick raspy breaths but it sounded as if he had forgotten how to breathe somehow. He couldn’t think either. His mind was flooded with fear, panic. He couldn’t stop himself from pushing Stefano away, as if he wasn’t controlling his actions anymore. He crawled into one corner of the room, trying to disappear from existence. He was sobbing or at least he was trying to, only the feeling of fear and pain plagued his features. Tears weren’t coming out, no matter how much he sobbed, nothing came out, as if he wasn’t physically allowed to do something as simple as crying.

Stefano was standing in from of him, he wasn’t moving. He wasn’t doing anything actually but he could hear him say something. There was a sigh, a disappointed sigh, then Stefano was kneeling next to him. His hand was lightly touching his head as if to not scare him. He was playing in his hair, his fingers as delicate as they could be. 

`` There, there passerotto...there’s no need to react so violently now, is there?`` Stefano cooed as his hand gently rubbed his cheek. It was so gentle, careful, reassuring. Perhaps he misunderstood his intentions. Maybe he overreacted. His mind still felt fuzzy after all.

\-----------

`` ..Pleas...don want...hurt...Ste-fa-no...pl..ease bas-ta…`` he sniffled, still shaking like a leaf. His voice was so broken and unsettling, it almost hurt him to hear what had become of his delightful art vocals. He kept his touch light at first as if to not scare him away even more. 

``Oh, Iris..who said I was going to hurt you now, mh?`` he whispered as he hummed softly. He slowly caressed his head, a soft smile spreading on his lips. Iris was barely looking at him but he wasn’t shaking as much as he did before. He did get a hold of Stefano’s hand and held it against his cheek as if he tried to reassure himself. 

`` ...you...dun want...to hu-rt me?...`` Iris croaked out still hiccuping slightly. Stefano’s thumb lazily brushed his cheek, trying to somehow comfort him, calm him down. He wasn’t expecting Iris to react so wildly at such a little thing nor was he expecting to be comforting his own art but there he was, kneeling on the ground and gently caressing his work back to his senses. He was still widely disappointed that he couldn’t get that personal moment with him but he still had time. He had all the time he could ever dream of having. His art was still a bit confused and perhaps it was better like this. This would give him time to get used to his lenses and get a better understanding of his sculpting, his body.

``Of course not, I have no reasons to hurt you...`` He purred as he gently placed his other hand on his other cheek. `` You must be so exhausted...perhaps some rest should help clear your mind.`` He cooed softly. Iris was still quietly sobbing but he was visibly way calmer than a few minutes before. There wasn’t a response from him right away but then he felt Iris’ head slowly nodding as he considered his offer. He nodded for a few minutes, mumbling quietly to himself. He looked up at Stefano staring at him, a subtle smile on his lips. He sniffled a few times.

``S...slee...sleepn...soun-ds...nice…`` his voice was barely audible with his soft sobs and how damaged it already was to begin with. 

``Let’s get you to bed then, shall we? `` he smiled before helping Iris back on his feet. He held him close as Iris legs still barely supported him. They walked in silence. Though Stefano still thought about that future project of his with Iris as a smirk crawled on his lips.


End file.
